Painless Scar
by retrollama
Summary: PostDH...huzzah! After the Battle at Hogwarts, the half the world awakens and come to their senses after what seems to be brainwash. And, just as it was sixteen years ago, even the Muggles notice a shift in their daily pattern. HG
1. Chapter 1: The Portrait Awakening

Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own any of these characters…most belong to either J.K. Rowling or whoever owns Leonardo DiVinci's stuff. I wish I owned his stuff…imagine going into art school with that under my wing…anyway, enjoy! P.S. More to follow, Harry/Ginny to come soon!_

The Mona Lisa stumbled back into her portrait. Grinning clumsily and removing a paper party hat, she sat down on her perch, peering down at the toothbrush-cleaned living room before her. She wasn't the real Mona Lisa, no, that was a dull, inanimate muggle painting in France. She was a copy of it made in the wizarding world; she actually was able to move around, from one of her portraits, in this little shack, to another, in an old cottage in the country, owned by a cheeky man named Dedalus Diggle.

Dedalus Diggle had many portraits in his home, most of them with several connections like Mona, and they were having a party tonight, much like the rest of the world surrounding them. After several years – about seventeen – the wizarding community finally had something to rejoice about. The dark Lord Voldemort had finally been defeated by a youth named Harry Potter during a battle at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry almost twenty-four hours ago.

Mona was now looking down at the kitchen where the boy's muggle relatives, the Dursleys, had taken refuge in a small, miserable old shack perched on a rock out to sea during the harsh wartimes. From what she had gathered they had stayed here briefly almost seven years previously, but she hadn't any idea in the slightest what would bring them here willingly. She had come to understand that his aunt and uncle thought very little of wizards, doubly so of their nephew. However, Mona might've grown a soft spot for their son, Damien, who was snoring on the moth-eaten sofa.

_Or was it Derek?_ she thought, silently contemplating the name of the porky young man whom she'd had so many flirtatious conversations with when his parents weren't in earshot. _Daniel…David…Duncan…_Dudley!_ Yes, that's the one – Dudders, as his mum calls him. _She smirked to herself, then suddenly remembered she was there to give the good news to these ignorant muggles.

"WAKE UP, DURSLEYS, I BEAR NEWS!" she declared shrilly.

Someone let out a roar of indignant annoyance in the single bedroom. The three pajama-clad Dursleys slumped out of their dreams and began to surround the bluntly satisfied portrait.  
"What the Devil did you wake us for?" grumbled Mr. Vernon Dursley, going purple in his pudgy face as he scowled up at the woman. His wife, Mrs. Petunia Dursley, a bony, horse-faced woman, appeared to be chewing her tongue, while Dudley, a more muscular version of his father, looked as if he hadn't been sleeping at all, as he stared, brow furrowed in thought, up at Mona.

"For the exact reason I was hung here, to give news if I have it," she answered curtly, "And I do. Your nephew, Harry Potter, has defeated the Dark Lord. The war is over, and someone will over come morning to discuss procedure and how to restore you to your house in Little Whinging."

"Is that all?" he asked, a little too rudely considering they had not had news since the September previously, and it was currently June.

"Yes. Might I suggest you begin to pack a bit after you celebrate?" Vernon snorted and ambled back to the bedroom, his wife trotting behind him obediently in her carpet slippers.

"I'll just make myself a cup of tea," mumbled Dudley to his parents as they shut the door behind them. He busied himself with the ancient, rusty hotplate the wizards had left them courteously, filling the kettle with water from a nearby jug and setting it to boil. He leaned, with forced casualness, considering the painting still beaming down at him, against the rickety wooden table and looked up at the Mona Lisa.

"Mona? Can I ask you a question?" he asked cautiously.

"Anything, Dudley. Shoot."

"Well, do you think Harry will…I dunno…be able to consider me a friend when – if – he comes back?" Mona scowled at him questioningly. "I mean, I was really mean to him as a kid. I beat him up a lot. I tried to make up for it when he was over last summer, but he was always shut up in his room." He frowned at the floor pointedly.

"I really don't know, Dudley, with him being famous and all he'll probably already have plenty of friends," she said negatively, hiding a wicked smile as she peered down at him in the dark, but her expression changed when she saw the look on his face. "Dudley, listen. He probably lost a lot of friends in this war. I heard rumors that when he was fourteen, a boy was killed by the Dark Lord right in front him. They weren't good friends, but it changed him all the same, never talked of it…oh, who was the boy?" she thought aloud. "Cedric…Cedric Diggory!"

Dudley's ears perked up at the mention of his name. Harry had sleep-talked about Cedric all summer one year, and he'd teased the boy about it! Had he really been so cruel to him?

"And then his godfather, Sirius Black, was died in a big duel once, no one was ever quite sure if he was a maniac or not…" she continued, oblivious to Dudley's ever sinking expression. "Plus he was a big favorite of Dumbledore…well, you know who he was," she added grimly. "Anyway, you just need to reach out a helping hand when he calls for it. And if he doesn't, then so be it, you two can go one with your lives." Her attempts at raising his spirits were clearly futile.

At that, the kettle began to sing "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" and Dudley remembered with jolt he was making tea with a wizard's kettle. He poured it gingerly into a mug and heard the singer sigh with relief as a cloud of steam came billowing up over it in the gloom. He took a small sip and burnt his tongue, swallowing as the heat chaffed his taste buds. Mona, on the other hand, was examining her olive-colored fingers absently.

"Can I ask you another question, Mona?"

"Ask away," she replied, not taking her eyes off of her uneventful nails.

"Why do you smile?"

"What?" She looked up, clearly confused by such a straightforward question.

"Well, I've been reading this art book, Dedalus gave to me, said it was the only 'muggle' book he had. And it says your original painting, by Da Vinci, a lot of people wonder why you smile in it." He reached over the table and picked up a thick book from a small stack.

"That's a stupid question, why shouldn't I smile? Leo just painted me this way, that's all," she answered dismissively.

"Well, some people seem to think it's because you're pregnant. They say it's the clothing you're wearing."

"WHAT?" she shrieked indignantly. "Am I _really_ that fat?" At this, she stood up and marched angrily out of her portrait, leaving nothing but a dramatically colored landscape of a background, of which Dudley gaped at for several minutes before retreating to his couch to read more about the woman who had just rejected his relatively benign statement.

There was an excited knock at the door at 9:30 the following morning, and Aunt Petunia received it with her lips pursed sourly. Dedalus Diggle bowed deeply as if trying to smell the traces of pungent seaweed that had accumulated on the doorstep by previous guests at the shack. He was not alone. As he stepped uninvited inside, he was followed by the last person the Dursleys had expected – Harry himself. He gave a shifty nod of the head to his former guardians, and glanced over a Dudley with a dash of a contemplative smile, considering their last encounter was awkwardly cordial.

"Thank you, Harry Potter's relatives!" said Dedalus. He never seemed capable of addressing them outside of their relations to Harry, something that always stressed the arteries in Uncle Vernon's temple. "Please, do sit, we've some very important things to discuss!" The Dursleys sank most uncomfortably into the kitchen chairs. Dedalus followed them, Harry, on the other hand, leaned casually against the counter, as there were only four places. He was so tired, but it was a tired he'd never felt before. Though mingled with grief and physical exhaustion, of which in the past he'd been forced to cope with for the majority of his time, it was usually stressed by either pressure of the more recently completed tasks before him, or merely for the fact that Lord Voldemort shared his soul parasitically. But now things were different. He was identifying his emotions – and controlling them – for the first time, and it felt wonderful, even when they weren't positive.

"Now," said Dedalus bracingly as the Dursleys peered weakly at him, having not said anything yet, "we have devised where to keep you while we have your Little Whinging home under examination. It is currently not considered safe, as we understand it was searched thoroughly by Death Eaters while you were away, and they could have left booby traps, charms, and such for you to find should you ever come back, so that they could find you and try to get to Harry. However, we have not been able to keep you here. There may still be dark wizards afoot, and the enchantments on this house have been broken, given that my colleague, Hestia Jones, was lost in the Battle at Hogwarts two nights ago." His voice cracked a little and looked down at the table. "The secret of the Fidelius charm surrounding this house died with her, and for some reason, we've not been able to set it up again, so you people are now vulnerable." He regained certainty in his voice at this. "But do not worry, Harry here has been kind enough to take you in at his current place of residence!" Harry smiled meekly at Dedalus's proud and affectionate tone, though his grin could've easily been mistaken for a grimace.

"His house?" grunted Uncle Vernon, speaking for the first time. "You said you had a house!" he demanded of his nephew.

"Er – erm, that is also under inspection, I'm afraid," piped up Dedalus uneasily. "No, you'll be off to the Burrow, home of the Weasleys, whom I daresay you've encountered before." He clapped his hands together bracingly as he stood up from his chair and looked expectantly around the room. "Now, what to use…what to use…" he mumbled.

"Now wait one bloody moment, here! We never agreed we'd be taken in by some crackpot old Weasler family!" shouted Uncle Vernon, pushing himself laboriously up from the table while his wife recoiled to his arm. "We'll not be going!"

"Uncle Vernon," said Harry, making his family jump, "I dunno if this is going to help, but I've spoken with the Weasleys on the matter, I've told them all about you, and their not the least bit more excited about it than you are."

"That's the spirit!" squeaked Dedalus jovially. "Aha, this'll do just fine," he picked up the singing kettle, emptied it excitedly out of the open window and whipped out a stubby wand. _"Portus!" _he wheezed tapping the kettle with his wand.

He looked up and beamed at the revolted Dursleys eagerly.

"Well, I'm afraid I cannot accompany you, that's why Harry's here!" he handed the kettle to Harry, who gestured forcefully for the Dursleys to follow him outside onto the wet, sunny rock. They ambled uncertainly after him, Dudley leading the way hopefully.

"Could you put a finger on this kettle?" Harry asked them politely, holding it up innocently so that it shone in the morning sunlight.

"Why?" demanded Uncle Vernon.

"Because if you do, it will take you the Burrow in exactly ten seconds." Dudley placed a pudgy finger on the nozzle without hesitation, his parents were much more reluctant but followed their son sourly.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter's relatives!" they heard behind them. At that, Harry felt a sudden jerk behind his navel as his feet left the ground. There was an enormous roar of surprise and rage nearby him as he stumbled back to earth.

"WHAT THE RUDDY HELL WAS THAT?" he heard Uncle Vernon bellow.

When they were all safely, and angrily on their feet, Harry lead them up to the Burrow, paying no regard to Uncle Vernon's livid shouts. There, lined up at the front of the house, ten fuming faces stood staring very sharply at the Dursleys.

"Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, meet my family," mumbled Harry loudly, gesturing around at the very awkward scene.


	2. Chapter 2: Laundry

a/n – Alloo! I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but between writer's block and sleeping, I've not had nearly enough time for more. But lo-ho-ho, dear readers, I'm writing more, so stay tuned!

P.S. Me no own these characters—J.K. Rowling does.

"Doing laundry has a tendency to fix everything."

"You sound like your mum."

"It does! Agree with me, Hermione." Ginny hauled a rucksack into the laundry room, closely followed by an equally burdened Hermione.

_"Aguamenti,"_ murmured Ginny into the washing basin in the corner of the room. Water flowed into it from her wand, steaming in the self-heating tub.

"I managed to fit a lot in that purse," marveled Hermione, dumping the contents of Ron's out on the floor. "We should probably sort out these, we stuffed all kinds of stuff in here," she sighed. The girls kneeled gingerly around the piles of clothes and proceeded to rifle through them, fishing through the pockets and occasionally sorting out various items from the wrinkly heap.

"When are you guys going to tell me what you've been doing?" piped Ginny tiredly as she heaved a load of clothes into the tub and willed it to stir with a few. It was indeed a question she was bored of asking.

"I've told you," moaned Hermione, "Me, Harry, and Ron agreed we'd let everyone know when we're ready."

"Don't pretend I'm the only one who's looking forward to that day." Ginny hauled Harry's rucksack into the room—it was the last of the bunch and fabric of the bag itself seemed to be in need of a wash as well. The clothes came crashing down with a short _phmph!_ Ginny shook it once more to release the items stowed at the bottom.

A hefty book smacked down on the pile. Hermione snatched it curiously and held it up to a small chink in the wall of the dim laundry room: she was immediately absorbed in a fit of giggles.

"Give me that!" Ginny pried it from her hands._ Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_—her jaw dropped.


	3. Chapter 3: Press and Paperwork

Wait! Don't sue! It all belongs to J.K. Rowling!

a/n: I've written more! Please leave a review and enjoy! I'm WORKING AS HARD AS I CAN. Happy Leif Eriksson Day!

"Hello, Rita. Is business well?"

"Booming,"

"How wonderful for you,"

"Though I must admit my readers are just aching for answers on a subject I take very seriously,"

"I can't imagine what that might be." Rita cackled most unconvincingly and swayed dangerously in her 6-inch heels as she smacked his shoulder playfully with a large, manicured hand.

"You, silly!" she chimed. "One hour, Harry," gaining seriousness alarmingly fast. "That's all I need to interview you. I'll do the rest, and then you can gain so much! I'll have your first biography out by summer's end!"

He sighed and hoisted himself off the bench he was sitting on in the Ministry Atrium. He regained his balance a moment on the cane Madam Pomfrey had insisted him using, shutting his eyes and allowing the pain and stiffness to ease. The Hogwarts nurse had told him his left leg needed natural repair for a while. "Grazed by one too many Stunning Spells," she had said. He didn't like it much. For one thing, it made him feel old and tired. For another, it made Rita Skeeter all the more capable of catching up to him as he made his way over to the elevator, her being equally handicapped by her choice in footwear.

"I'm sorry Rita," he droned in mock regret as he made his way, "As much as I'm dying for another of your interrogations, I have a meeting with the Minister right now." He hobbled into the elevator at last—more than one person walked out of it in subtle defiant protest to the Boy Who Lived and his beliefs. "If you want dirt on my life and all, why don't you go ask them?" he asked smugly, gesturing feebly toward the workers who had chosen to take a Potter-free route to their offices. Rita frowned and turned to leave as the golden gates screeched shut; Harry saw her stumble treacherously as they sealed.

He felt the familiar lurch in his stomach as the elevator took him higher, frequently stopping to allow witches, wizards, and flying paper memos to file urgently out. He was the only one left in the small cabin when a cool, female voice spoke _"Level One, Minister for Magic and Support Staff." _The gates opened and he strode casually down the chilly halls to the office and knocked, trying his best not to look at the guards who were set by the doors. "Enter," he heard inside, and one of the guards pushed him away to free the heavy internal locks with a wave of his stubby wand. When at last he was allowed in, he walked uncomfortably in on his knotty cane.

"Kingsley," he said to the man busy at the mahogany desk. It was a large, cozy office, full of books and dark wood furniture. A large window looked over a magically projected image of London, and a small door was to the side of the room, clearly leading to an assistant's office.

"Hello, Harry. Please sit," said Kingsley in his deep, relaxing voice. Harry took a seat across from him. The temporary Minister for Magic tore himself from his work to face Harry. His robes were stained in several places, and there were dark circles underneath his eyes. His gaze was sympathetic, but not pitying. "I understand this has been a difficult day for you, as I'm sure most days have been." Harry shrugged. He was still wearing his black dress robes from Fred's funeral earlier today. "I'm very sorry, Harry. I hate to put you through so much pressure after you must be grieving—,"

"Kingsley, I'm fine," he interrupted, not wanting to listen to sympathy. "Tell me what you brought me here to tell me." Kingsley examined him searchingly, then looked down at what was clearly a list of things to do. From what Harry could see, it was long.

"Well," sighed Kingsley, "We've got plenty for you to do. We've had to hire you an assistant." Harry's eyes widened.

"An assistant?"

"Yes, I'll call her in," he said casually, getting up from his chair and walking over to the door at the side of the room. "Bring her in," he said quietly inside.

"She'll be there in a moment, she just needs to finish registering," came a voice inside.

"Excellent," he said deeply, sitting back down in his profoundly cushioned desk chair. "Back to business. I've had someone look at the majority of our records of occurrences that you've been involved in the past years, and they are severely incorrect. The Ministry has literally posted clips and quotes from the Daily Prophet—Rita Skeeter usually—and used them as evidence. It's all lies, no truth." Someone walked in the room just behind Harry, but Kingsley continued to speak occasionally referring to his papers. "Seeing as you were the main witness at most of these events, you need to redo the paperwork on most of them. Not to mention, we also need one to two additional witnesses to support your answers. Plus we need profiles on people like Sirius Black, Cedric Diggory, Dumbledore, controversial people like that. That's just the least that you have to do.

"I'm afraid you've been left no choice but to announce formally to the Wizengamot, both on paper and in person, where you've been, and what you've done for the past year. Ron and Hermione need to do likewise. They will ask you brutal questions, so you must be certain to answer directly and accurately." Harry rubbed his forehead. He wasn't ready to talk. "You are scheduled to meet with the Wizengamot in one week." The person sitting behind Harry scratched down a date on a schedule.

"Will it have the same people as before? Umbridge, for example?" Harry asked anxiously.

"No," he said soothingly, "We're currently questioning them for crimes against muggle-borns and what not. Some will go to Azkaban, others will be suspended, but in all I have a feeling we'll have less than half the members we had originally," he said bitterly.

"Anyway, I have requested anyone connected to the Ministry be questioned for reputation, just to make sure we have an accurate record of all witches and wizards. People should be receiving notices about now, and the closest relative to the deceased will come and speak for them.

"The Ministry is also in search of a new headmaster to Hogwarts," he said glumly.

"What about Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked. Kingsley pinched a headache between his eyes.

"She has agreed to stay one more year as Transfiguration teacher, but insists she's too old to be Headmistress. I have the suspicion she's only staying another year to make sure all the new replacement teachers are worthy. We also need a new Muggle Studies, Herbology (Professor Sprout retired, conveniently enough), and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I think I'll need your help on that, too.

"When we're done with all this, which will hopefully be by the end of the summer, we do need to discuss career arrangements for you, but we'll save that for another day," he said dismissively. He stood up and picked up a thin, metal briefcase sitting by the window looking over the slowly revolving London Eye. He handed it to Harry over the desk. "That has all the paperwork in it."

"Bit small, isn't it?"

"No, I had to put several Undetectable Enlargement Charms on it. There's enough in there to fill a truck. I wanted to save you the hassle of having to move it all as it was." Kingsley grinned for the first time. "Thank you, Harry, your input saves me more than you know."

"Anytime. I'll see you in a week Kingsley."

"Yes, a week it is."

They shook hands officially. Harry turned around and made for the door, leaning roughly on his cane, scratching his head with his eyes watching the ground just ahead of him. He never imagined he would be this pressured when the war was over, but he had enough work to last him a lifetime, it seemed, writing records on all the main people and events of his life.

He raised his head, hoping to introduce himself to his new assistant, when he realized there was no need for introduction. It hit him like a bomb; to such an extent that he stopped in his tracks and swayed, wide-eyed, in his place.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded bluntly of a very eager-looking Cho Chang, whom had just stood up to meet her new boss.


	4. Chapter 4 : Homeless

a/n: I'm just cranking them out, now. Sorry for the shortness. I'm a short person. I cut my hair this week. Plus, I painted a picture of a butterfly. Enjoy my fanfiction.

Disclaimation Nation: I don't own these characters, J.K. Rowling does.

"Er—sorry, Harry, I…" Cho trailed off, flushing brilliantly.

He turned back pleadingly towards Kingsley, even though he knew the man would know little of Harry's love life, let alone the fact he had hired Harry's ex-girlfriend. Kingsley, had, however, leaned back in his chair, shut his eyes, and let his mouth fall open, clearly trying to gain a few minutes of rest before his next appointment. Harry turned back to her, and walked briskly forward on his cane, gesturing forcefully with his head for her to follow him. He opened the door for them, and he rushed for the elevator. He internally thanked Merlin that it was empty. As soon as the golden gates screeched shut, he began to speak, talking to the entrance of the elevator.

"Tell me, Cho, did you have any idea how awkward this might be for me right now?" Hot anger rose in him. Cho had been polite to him when their paths crossed after they'd broken up, but he remembered how defensive of him Ginny had been just before the Battle, and immediately recognized this as a very ugly situation.

"I thought it wouldn't matter," she answered bluntly. Harry noticed she wasn't in her usual fit of tears.

"Wouldn't matter? Cho, imagine what Ginny will say…no offense, but with the Weasleys, you're not exactly one to be welcomed into the family."

She said nothing for a moment.

"I thought you and Ginny broke up." He felt her eyes fall on him as the doors creaked open once more to reveal a packed Atrium. Workers were now trying to disassemble the large statue of the witch and wizard on the throne of muggles without disturbing the frantic Ministry officials, who were occasionally having to duck to avoid a flying stone eye or a nude stone muggle. They strode out of the elevator, and Harry cautiously checked their surroundings for Rita Skeeter. She was watching the statue crumble from a very inconvenient location leaning against a pillar, sucking distantly on her acid-green Quick-Quotes Quill. Watching the journalist, he beckoned Cho to follow him, and they stopped behind a darkened pillar in the corner of the Atrium.

"Listen," he said. "Ginny and I did break up. But…back then, it was just to protect her." He sighed and looked over to Rita Skeeter, who was edging closer to them, though obliviously strolling around the statue, taking in its crude splendor at several angles. "We've not talked since the Battle," he said, turning back to her. She looked down when their gaze met, furrowing her brow.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't think this'll go over well, you working for me." She rubbed her forehead, though her eyes stayed remarkably dry.

"Please, I need this job," she pleaded quietly. He swore internally at her persistence, and checked for Skeeter again. She was turning round in a circle, her back currently turned. He watched her a moment, until she had turned to such an angle that she noticed him—in a corner—with Cho. Her eyes immediately became hungry for the appealing circumstances, and she began rushing forward with more speed than he ever thought she could make in her towering heels.

"Come on, Cho, there are tons of jobs out there, I'm sure you can find another." She sighed and scratched her head. "Listen, we'll stay in touch, just as friends, okay?" He held out his hand for her to shake, though slightly insistent in doing so, as Rita Skeeter had now stopped to linger, Quick-Quotes Quill quivering urgently on a hovering pad of shimmery paper, at was obviously what she thought was a safe and sneaky distance about ten meters away.

Cho looked away from him.

"Well, I guess I'll seen you then," he said, as she had dismissed his offer. He turned to leave, nodding defiantly at Rita Skeeter, who looked near tears at her lack of juicy news. He was just about to reach the nearest fireplace to floo back to the Burrow when he heard Cho call out to him once more.

"I'm homeless," she called.

He froze in his tracks.


	5. Chapter 5 : No Slumber Parties

a/n: I daresay I've been cursed with short-chapterism! I will be writing all holiday, and I want to make more progress! ENJOY, MY CHILDREN.

I don't own these characters. J.K. Rowling does, the doll…

"My…my mum lost her job at the Ministry about a year ago," explained Cho, clutching a cup of tea for dear life in the Burrow living room. "She was part of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, worked mainly with the Chinese Ministry after we moved here." Harry stirred his tea. Mrs. Weasley had gratefully served them as soon as they arrived, clearly desperate for someone to fuss over after the funeral. The living room was still packed with tables of half-empty food plates and beaming pictures from the reception, and they had been told to tuck in as much as they could. They hadn't touched it yet. Ron and Hermione had left for Australia as soon as the reception ended, Bill and Fleur had gone back to Shell Cottage, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had locked themselves in the parlor all day (as per usual), while Dudley had gone for a stroll, and Mr. Weasley, Percy, Ginny, and George had all gone to their rooms to rest.

"They had come up with a few reasons for firing her, none that made any real sense," she continued. "Not wanting to continue international magical relations for fear they may try and interfere with You-Know-Who's plans…stuff like that. I think the main thing was that she was half-blood, and refused to support their new laws. Anyway, she went back to stay at home with me. My dad stayed in China, and was trying to send us money, but someone was watching our post, and we got nothing." She wasn't crying.

"So, Harry, I really need this job. My mum and I just lost our house, and she's trying to find a job, too, I just…"

"For the summer."

"What?"

"Do you think you might want to stay my assistant for the summer?" Harry cursed himself inwardly for his pitying; he just didn't want her to be homeless all this time.

Someone came rumbling down the creaky stairs. Ginny stumbled into the room, absorbed in a book. Harry shut his eyes, this seemed the worst case scenario. _Just get it over with,_ he thought.

"Hey, Ginny," he said loudly. She looked up and took in the scene with her mouth slightly open in shock. He thought he saw her eyes flash ever so slightly. Her face hardened conclusively at once. She snapped the book shut. "Er—Ginny, I can ex—"

"You left this in your rucksack," she said, pushing the book into his chest. He took it, and felt his heart fly into his throat—it was Ron's birthday gift. "It's obviously worked really well, after all you two have been through, I'm impressed you can keep that flame after all these years." She spoke with icy sarcasm, Cho watched her with an alarmingly vacant gaze.

"Oh, Ginny, you—you can't think that—"

"No! No, don't let me get in your way, Harry," she interrupted dramatically. He never knew her to be dramatic. "I'll just leave you two to catch—" the back door flew open. In came a very flustered-looking Dudley, followed by Luna Lovegood, who appeared to be patting his back vaguely.

"Wrackspurt got to him," she informed them. Dudley appeared as if he owed Luna his life. "Lucky we crossed each other at just the right time. Wrackspurts are invisible and they float in your head through your ears and make your mind go fuzzy. I recognized the expression right away, and we we're able to dissolve it just in time, I carry the serum around just in case." She beamed at their frozen figures for a moment before excusing herself. "Remember to wear the charm I gave you, just in case, okay, Dudley Dursley?" He nodded obediently and she waved to all before drifting dreamily out of the house.

"Er—Ginny, can I talk to you in private?" He took her arm and half-dragged her into the kitchen.

"I can walk perfectly fine!" she protested.

"Listen," he said, ignoring her. "Kingsley hired her as my assistant. I tried to fire her right afterward, but…er—Ginny, she's homeless." She glared at him a moment.

"There are other jobs."

"You realize how hard it might be to get a job right now with so many Muggle-borns coming out of hiding?"

"Then what are you proposing?" He furrowed his brow, not knowing what to tell her, when they heard voices coming from the living room. The scene seemed suddenly frozen as they both shifted their attention curiously to the voices. Ginny turned around slowly and peered through the door, muffling a gasp at what she saw. Harry followed, and immediately understood what that gasp was for.

Cho and Dudley were both enveloped deep in conversation, clearly as if old friends. Dudley regarded her shyly, while Cho spoke with her usual animated air she adopted when talking with her enormous squad of girlfriends at Hogwarts.

"So there really is no such thing as Wrackspurts?" asked Dudley, a goofily embarrassed smile (which Cho evidently considered a very desirable trait) cracking across his doughy face.

"Nah, Luna was always a rather odd sort."

"Excuse me?" Ginny had stormed in to join the conversation. "Luna is twice the girl you are." Cho recoiled, defeated, by staring down at her lap.

"I sorry to intrude, Ginny," she mumbled. She was silent before she began frantically gathering up her purse. "I should probably go." Ginny watched her with a look of mingled remorse and anger. Cho had just reached the door when she called after her:

"Who said you'll be leaving?" Cho whirled around. Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes at herself. "Harry needs help, apparently, and you need somewhere to stay." Harry stared, wide-eyed, at this rash decision. She folded her arms tightly, and looked quickly to the ground, clearly mortified. She opened her mouth to say something more, but only clenched it shut, scowling at the ground. As she half-ran out of the room, Harry heard her mumble: "but no slumber parties."


End file.
